Tears at Heaven's Gate
by AsianScaper
Summary: Amidala is mourning over the loss of a loved one although much of what happened is left to the imagination. This story occurs before 'The Play of Shadows'. Please read and review!


**Title:** _Tears at Heaven's Gate_   
**Author:** al'Laine Aranielle id Larq   
**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters and I'm not making money out of this so please don't sue me. Star Wars, its characters, and everything else in between, belong to George Lucas...I think.   
**Rating:** G   
**Category:** Drama   
**Feedback:** Friends, enemies: Send your comments or constructive criticism to allaine003@hotmail.com. If you find anything remotely displeasing, do tell!   
**Summary:** Amidala is mourning over the loss of a loved one although much of what happened is left to the imagination. This story occurs before 'The Play of Shadows'. Please read and review!   
**Spoilers:** None that I know of unless you think Anakin being Darth Vader is a spoiler...   
**Archiving:** =) I'd be honored to have this posted wherever you fellow fans wish. Though, I'd appreciate it very much if you could drop me a line and tell me where it's at.   
**Dedication:** I thank the friends who have prodded me onward. Without them, I would not think of myself as a writer. My gratitude to trin_chardin, madCOW, dreamer18, and krystal. My hopes are with you guys =)   
**Author's Note:** I would be very grateful for any insights; if you see any grammatical or spelling errors, feel free to point them out. I'm just starting out =) so it'd be great if you would be generous on your insights. I hope that my exploration on the Anakin/Amidala relationship is appropriate enough and if you think otherwise, please feel free to point out why.

***

The sun had begun its journey down the road of dusk, feeling, ever so slightly, the fingers that crossed a sky threaded with the fine weavings of a loom; a loom that had, not long before the beginning of time, started from the machinations of dawn. It dipped in movement much like that of a dolphin, down the sea that was the sky, and lit the depths with her brilliance. But her escape from the horizon led to a different conquest.

The trees that had rooted themselves into the landscape now danced to a different tune; to a different caper that the zephyr had taken to bear. And this song, much like the mourning of a thousand throats, wore clandestine garments that set the skies afire with their gold-strung mantle of darkness. The wind howled; in it whispered the effervescent breath of souls long gone.

Messengers, clad in their armament of blanched robes woven from the sunset, tiny and yet powerful in their presence, strung the vault of heaven with their wreaths of crystal. Cool Night unraveled her midnight cloak and waved her ebony hand across the welkin of stars, overshadowing the city with a mist that glanced every stone in a palace that had taken to sitting on a throne of sapphire. Water fell from the heights and into the abyss...

Naboo had experienced such nights, bathed in the presence of unseen spirits that never ended their cries of sorrow. Lamenting, perhaps, the passage of time. Tears fell unto the ground, soaking the soil that had housed not only memories but also corporeal shells that had merged with earth to form a different world. Rain fell as such, and it trickled down the leaves that composed Amidala's private garden.

She did not need to be told of her quandary. Water dribbled down the ridge of her contemplative frown and into her eyes, down the sides of her face, and into the slender curve of her neck. She took no notice of her hair, the colors associated with those of a raven, when it fell in wet strands across her face and stroked her cheek with the dank cruelty of rain.

One would have stepped away at the mislaid tranquility that composed every muscle in her body and at the lingering sadness that stuck to the air like cobwebs in a dusty attic. By the looks of her oppressive stance, she would not have allowed anyone to disturb her. Her beauty, though, which gave glory to the gift of womanhood, was undiminished behind sunken eyes and tears that had been shed not long before.

"Your Highness," a small voice said, venturing into that circle of seclusion that stank of despair.

The Queen was quiet. Too quiet, perhaps, for only the rain and its distant hammering against every object, living and non-living, sounded like the tick-tock of time.

The servant did not need any more urging. She spoke with a voice that broke with every word, matching the Queen's soul. "M-my Lady...he has not returned..."

And to her surprise, Amidala turned from the garden, her black eyes flashing against a backdrop of the sky's lament. But they were red, bejeweled with cruel rubies from the mines of woe. "Please..." she whispered, "...enough is enough..." She stepped from the marble, walking into the welcoming arms of her maidservants who had taken to watching her torment herself. The wool they coated around her and against her skin was little comfort from the storm of anguish that raged in her. And having stepped away from the communion of the sky's own tears, hers seemed very little compared to the downpour of the heavens and she began to weep like a child who had been torn from every tie that made her innocent.

She faltered against her maidservant's arms and they gasped inwardly...they gasped and sighed their sorrows...sighed and cried their own tears without showing them. "My lady, please..."

"My lady, 'tis not the end. Do not lament so. He cannot be dead...not yet, not now. He is the One."

"Do not comfort me with words," Amidala hissed. "Words are nothing when nature reveals all acts, all events." And her face crumpled in silent pain. "But what gratitude can I give you? You who have cradled a soul so bent in destroying itself. All that I have, all that I ever will have, will be as sour as the grapes that grow from every uncanny season."

And the servants did not dare to reason with her for she spoke the truth.

***

**-The End-**


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